


Cleaning Up (best job he ever had)

by whirlpool



Category: The 1975 (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, shower blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 22:42:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17109533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whirlpool/pseuds/whirlpool
Summary: "Get a move on, then," said Matty, kicking at his guitar case, suddenly all too aware that he was completely naked and still hard, dammit, and George had propped himself up on one elbow and was just smirking at him, hair all mussed and eyes still sleepy, and fuck, fuck, fuck, they did not have time for morning sex.





	Cleaning Up (best job he ever had)

**Author's Note:**

> Guys....I literally wrote this back in 2014 and never posted it because I thought I would finish it and make it longer. Oops. Well here it is, in its unfinished glory!

Matty’s phone buzzed.

Eyes still closed, he blindly reached for it, accidentally elbowing George in the face, which earned a muffled, sleepy “but the hi-hat’s broken”, before his hand finally landed on the nightstand. He groped about, knocked over a water glass, and grasped his mobile.

Squinting, he brought the screen close to his face. It was a text from Hann, saying that he and Ross would pick them up in twenty minutes for tonight’s gig.

Matty tossed his phone onto the floor and screwed his eyes back shut. His head was fuzzy and his mouth was dry, but all in all, he was doing pretty damn well, considering all those free gin shots he had taken at 2 a.m. from that creepy old man at the bar who kept eyeing his ass like it was made out of gold and they were in 1849 California. He vaguely remembered George making him drink, like, ten litres of water before bed though. Damn him and all his wisdom and foresight.

Currently, George was curled around him, knees tucked into Matty’s, a heavy arm draped across Matty’s ribs. They were both in their boxers, skin sticking to skin in the warmth of the late afternoon sun. Matty wriggled and turned around to face George. He yawned and pushed the hair off George’s forehead and laid little kisses on the tip of his nose.

“Babe,” said Matty softly. “We gotta get up.”

George frowned, eyes closed, and shook his head.

“Babe,” repeated Matty, less softly. There might have also been some shoulder-shaking and shin-kicking involved. “Ross and Hann are coming ‘round in twenty minutes.”

“Mmm,” said George, rocking forward a bit, and oh yeah, they definitely both had morning wood. Matty reached down, figuring that he could get them both off and out the door in twenty minutes, easy.

Twenty minutes.

“Oh _shit!_ ” Matty scrambled up and George grunted in protest. The room came into focus. Last night’s clothes were strewn about on the floor, and they both reeked of sweat and cigarettes and greasy pizza. He sprang out of bed and tugged on his jeans. They smelled like vomit. He tugged them off.

"Pack our shit," Matty commanded, pulling off his boxers and kicking them to the corner as he headed to the bathroom. "I gotta shower." There was something mysterious and decidedly sticky in his hair, and he didn't feel like waiting around til it hardened and George would have to cut it out because while George was good at many things, cutting hair was not one of them.

"Get a move on, then," said Matty, kicking at his guitar case, suddenly all too aware that he was completely naked and still hard, dammit, and George had propped himself up on one elbow and was just smirking at him, hair all mussed and eyes still sleepy, and fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ they did _not_ have time for morning sex, and it wasn't even morning, it was like four in the afternoon.

"I'll join you," said George, still smiling, and he swung his legs around and sat on the edge of the bed and stretched, muscles straining under skin and making Matty's stomach flip.

 _This is a bad idea_ , thought Matty as George stood up and crossed the room.

 _This is a_ really _bad idea_ , thought Matty as George gave him a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss that tasted of soda and morning breath, and murmured ‘I’ll make it quick’ against his neck.

 _We are never going to make it out on time_ , thought Matty as he hitched his legs up around George's waist and let himself be carried the rest of the way to the bathroom.

And then Matty couldn't think anymore because they were in the shower and there was hot water on his shoulders and George was on his knees and _oh god oh god oh god._

George's lips were wrapped around his shaft, slick with water and spit, screwing down until they were at the base of Matty's cock because George was the fucking king of deep-throating and never even gagged, not even once (and okay, maybe Matty was a _little_ jealous).

Somewhere between the shower curtain clenched in his fist and the water droplets forming on George's eyelashes, it vaguely occurred to Matty that huh, yeah, he actually really _did_ need to wash up, so he grabbed the shampoo and lathered up his hair, and after some thought, rubbed some shampoo into George's hair too, because they were both in the shower so they might as well get clean, dammit.

George laughed as Matty’s fingers massaged his scalp, and there was a little scrape of teeth, but Matty didn’t bring attention to it because George was now pulling off slightly, swirling his tongue around Matty’s tip, using his hand to pump the rest of his length, and god _damn_ , he wasn’t kidding around when he said it would be a quickie. Then George sucked, hard, cheeks hollowing obscenely, and Matty came, hands clenched in George’s hair, babbling obscenities and prayers to a god he didn’t believe in.

George spat, and to be honest Matty was a little bit hurt, but he didn’t mention it. (Matty always swallowed, and took it as a point of pride. But he wasn’t about to start imposing his own standards on George.)

“Sorry, shampoo got in my mouth,” George said, standing up. He filled his mouth with water, swished, and spat again. “Shit’s bitter as fuck.”

“Forgiven,” said Matty, kissing him, and then they _both_ had shampoo in their mouths, and spent half a minute spitting and swishing and cursing the manufacturers of shampoo everywhere.


End file.
